


I Can Heal, I Can Breathe

by kanethecryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eating Disorders, F/F, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Therapy, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanethecryptid/pseuds/kanethecryptid
Summary: She didn't understand what Angela saw in her.She didn't until she saw that look in her crystalline eyes.





	I Can Heal, I Can Breathe

Amélie Lacroix focused on her reflection. She traced her fingertips down her shoulders, slowly moving them to the sides of her chest and torso. She took in a deep breath, holding the air in as she felt the light sensations down her waist.

  
_Too thin. Disgusting. Just a boy pretending to be a girl. Get over yourself._

  
Her fingers stopped at her hips, hoping that somehow they would curve. She'd been trying so hard to eat something without her missing that feeling of emptiness in her stomach. The way it felt when she took a sip of water; how it dropped into a pit of nothingness.

  
It filled her with guilt each time Angela would make them dinner, only for Amelie to wind up getting rid of the slight portion she ate later that night. She despised herself for it, knowing she was lying about her recovery to her girlfriend.

 

Angela, god, the woman was true to her name. She was a true angel: always compassionate and caring without judgement. Amélie didn't know how she deserved that treatment; she was the complete opposite; distrusting, angry, and unsympathetic for others. Amélie was grateful for the blonde referring her to a therapist, despite the wariness she had in the beginning. For a few months she was doing so well, but her constant state of dysphoria caused her to relapse.

  
  
A night Amélie could hardly remember blurred into her head. She couldn't remember how long ago it was, only that it was the night she went back on her promise of recovery.

 

She recalled pills. Vomit. Knocking on the bathroom door, a person rushing in, dialing on her phone. The sound of sirens and an unrecognizable woman carrying her body into a vehicle. The only event she remembered next was her waking up in a hospital bed. She recognized the interior somewhat. It was the hospital Angela worked at; where she saved lives daily only to wind up dating a fuck up like her.

 

Amélie genuinely didn’t know what the woman saw in her. She was always so irritable and never interested in the idea of intimacy as of late. Her body looked almost breakable in her post-relapse state; it disgusted her beyond belief. But Angela wasn't appalled by her in the slightest, somehow. When Amélie’s eyes opened that day, she saw a face of sympathy; not fear. Her hair was disheveled and darkness formed at the bottom of her azure eyes, but there was a soft smile of relief on her lips.

 

Amélie shifted her gaze away from her reflection. She figured she’d at least get dressed; that alone would make her happy along with Angela. She removed her shirt from her torso, frowning at her miniscule breasts. Years on estrogen should have made her chest significantly larger, but her lack of nourishment refuted the process. She would’ve had augmentation surgery, but she didn’t have the funds required for it. Angela offered to pay for it multiple times before, saying that with her wage it was possible. Amélie always refused: it was something she had to take on for herself. She despised being so helpless. She was supposed to be independent and supporting herself, but in her mental condition no one could hire her. Amélie sighed, sliding her panties off, exposing the most intimate part of her body along with her narrow hips. It was difficult to even look at herself in this state. Dysphoria and dysmorphia intertwined with each other, and she couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. Rummaging through her drawers, she found a padded bra that usually helped to alleviate her. On top of it, she wore a tight amethyst top, showing off the slight curve of her chest. The corners of her lips turned upwards. Amélie paired it with a simple pair of black jeans, padding underneath her undergarments. Amélie tied her lengthy hair into a ponytail and glimpsed back at the mirror, smirk evident.

 

“Amélie?” The blonde lying in the bed adjacent to Amélie rose from her slumber. She reached her arms towards the ceiling with a yawn, then bringing her hands to her face, rubbing at her eyes. “Why are you up so early?”

 

Not wanting to describe the intense thoughts that were running through her head, Amélie just shrugged. Angela sat up, walking over to her girlfriend. She was dressed in only a black bralette and silk panties, which contrasted with her fair skin. The woman brought a delicate hand to her face, turning Amélie’s head towards her. “You look very beautiful with that outfit on.” Angela said before locking lips with her. The blonde rested her head on her lover’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you, cherie.” Amélie hummed softly. Angela’s praise meant a lot to her, even if she didn’t react as such. Her dark upbringing affected her personality, turning her cold and negative. Angela broke through that wall of hatred and saw her real self, but there would always be a shell of cruelty deep inside of her. She was always afraid of hurting the woman; her soft heart might leave her damaged and broken one day and it would be Amélie’s fault. She tried not to think about it.

 

“You’re very welcome, my sweet.” Angela pulled away from her girlfriend. “Do you want me to make you breakfast, or?” Her expression seemed reluctant, understanding that most of the time Amélie didn’t want to indulge in anything.

 

“Actually, that would be great.” Seeing a pleading look in those cerulean eyes, Amélie decided that she needed to eat.

 

“Ok, that’s great! I’ll go make it now.” Quickly pecking her cheek, Angela exited the room to the kitchen.

 

Amélie realized she needed to get back on track with recovery; the countless months of working towards her goal couldn't be in vain. Not when this woman had so much faith in her and support to give. As the professionals said to her, the first step to recovery was acknowledging that she had a problem and then attempting to fix it. Her normally dark skin was unbearably paler than it had ever been and her bones seemed to be poking out like she was a skeleton; dead and buried long ago. She couldn’t live like this anymore.

 

Standing up and walking to her nightstand, she took hold of her phone, unplugging it from its charger. Amélie opened up her application, beginning to type an email to her therapist whose messages she ignored for weeks until now. Hitting the send button, the woman took a deep breath, genuinely smiling for the first time in awhile.


End file.
